


Red is the color of blood, and I will seek it

by depugnare



Series: Never Gonna Be a Whole Fic [15]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Black Widow - Freeform, Drabble, Gen, Magical Realism, Natasha-centric, idk just something from twitter I had feelings about nat, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7551802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depugnare/pseuds/depugnare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am confused in webs and knots of scarlet <br/>Spun from the darkness; <br/>Or shuttled from the mouths of thirsty spiders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red is the color of blood, and I will seek it

she sinks beneath the water in the tub, hair unfurling like a funeral shroud

red like blood, it clings to her skin, coagulated against her throat

she waits until the water turns cold before standing in front of the mirror, and cuts her hair until it hangs in slick hanks around her ears

anything to keep it away from the pulse in her chest

she goes to the salon the next day, asks for highlights. now her hair shines like burnished copper, orange. still a redhead. no other color suits her, no other color will keep.

he comments on her new hair, his own mussed into a newer, more modern style, gently tugs on a curl that springs back into place against her cheekbone. she smiles, goes home, burns the curls that billow from her scalp into lines that lay flat against her spine.

anything to stop it from bouncing when she walks, a heartbeat.

after a mission, her lipstick smears when she goes to wipe ashes from her cheek. blood red pours from the corner of her mouth, a sticky smear that rises to her ear. it mingles with blood sliding down her face from the laceration at her hairline.

red clings to her, sinks into her bones like marrow taken too soon. she goes home and curls her hair, twists it around her fingers, watches it move freely away from her skin. she cuts it again, this time even shorter than the last.

anything to keep it away from her face.

she remembers everyone she’s ever killed, keeps their names at the base of her skull. her hair grows quickly, springing from her scalp like prairie wheat.

red flowing forth from a ledger.

**Author's Note:**

> The summary is from the poem Red is the Color of Blood by Conrad Potter Aiken


End file.
